match point
by Ed Higgins
match point
two roses her eyes
aqua-blue
no, blue-green
so anyway roses don't compare
but her arms were erotic maps
lithe rivers into white rapids
on hot days we would play tennis
the yellow ball a small beak on clay
& her brown hair talons,
glints & blends of speckled leaves
with the net blinking
watching our perfect serves
she with the wind in her hair.
|
3
favs |
1174 views
3 comments |
69 words
All rights reserved. |
Author's Note
This publication amuses my non-sports self to no end. The current issue of Aethlon: The Journal of Sport Literature has published my poem “Match Point” (Vol. XXVII: 1, Winter 2010, p. 23). And, yes, the “current” journal’s a whole year behind (actually, they’ve had my poem for over a-year-&-a-half by now & I’d forgotten about it until my contributor’s copy showed up in the mail this week!).
Interesting way with descriptions. Vivid. Good stuff.
Nice work, Ed. Effective use of the line. I like.
I like this line; "her arms were erotic maps." Good stuff.